


Steel and Branch

by Silverheart



Category: Guild Wars
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverheart/pseuds/Silverheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes of the adventures of Kalmea Steelheart, proud charr warrior, and Agaren, widely regarded as the Pale Tree's least impressive disappointment.</p><p>A slightly random experiment with various concepts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fights and Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, but hey, it's helped me stay sane of late.
> 
> Or insane, maybe.

Kalmea shivered again and curled her tail under her cloak, watching the norn prepare to fight. They were taking a damned long time about it. 

The Tribune had warned her about Hoelbrak. He'd said it was colder than charr fur could handle, and that the norn were a strange people who liked to drink and talk and fight, usually all at the same time. But if she wanted training without the press of duty, Hoelbrak was the place to go. 

For unlike the charr, norn did not have any sense of priorities, nor four different enemies at their gates. 

The bigger norn threw a punch at the slightly smaller one. _Finally_. 

They began wailing on each other with their huge, blunt fists. They barely moved, just two mountains hammering at each other, chests and arms bare to the chilling wind. 

How they could expose themselves in the weather was beyond her. 

"Cold, charr?" 

She turned to see an unusually large local grinning at her. He wore armor, unlike most of the brawlers. Something of him reminded her of her journey north, plagued by men bearing the curse of an Elder Dragon. _Willingly_ bearing it, the norn told her. 

She lifted her head high. All charr were a physical match for a norn, and Kalmea was one of the taller females. This near-human didn't intimidate her. "An inconvenience," she said, after a heartbeat adding, "I've waded through the infernos of Flame Legion fortresses. The cold is a welcome relief." Bragging was the norn response to insult. And everything else, for that matter. 

The norn chuckled, baring his teeth hard. Amongst non-charr species, it was an expression of happiness, but this male seemed so feral it reminded her of a beast's snarl. "If that is so, drop your cloak and test your strength against me." 

She'd fought in the cold before, both in armor and in the warm clothing she wore now. It would take time to warm up, and her instincts were screaming a warning. The air held just a hint of _wrong,_ and the fur up and down her spine was standing up. 

A bad day. That's all it was. She'd carved her way through haunted ruins on bad days. One norn would be nothing. 

He charged at her. She leapt to the side, pulling her knife at the same time and discarding her cloak. 

She didn't give him time to find his footing, lashing out at his belly. He slipped away- barely- and started laughing. 

He was going to pull that norn trick, wasn't he? She braced herself for one of the beast-shapes. 

Instead, a chunk blue and black ice, colder than death, slammed into her face. She staggered back, trying to brush away the sensation of burning cold from her muzzle. Her ears were ringing, and he could only see an icy blue haze. 

The spectators were shouting when her senses returned to her. Half had taken beast-form. A pair of bears were holding her attacker, and at the same time holding off most of the crowd. Two Wolfborn came striding through to collect the man. 

"Cheating coward! Kill him!" 

"He's a Son of Svanir! He shouldn't have been let into the city!" 

The Wolfborn hauled the man to the edge of the crowd and threw him into the snow. "Go back to the Veins," one told him. 

Kalmea shook herself again and went to retrieve her cloak. It was soaked. Enough fighting for the day, then. Time to go find a fire and listen to someone's war stories until she drank herself to sleep 

"You're getting better, young charr," a female norn said. Kalmea turned to see Eir Stengarkin. "You were less quick on your feet a month ago, when you came here." 

"In a warband, individual maneuverability is less vital. 'Bandmates, artillery....less need." She pulled on her cloak and shivered. "But on my own, almost unarmed, I need to move, and fast." 

The norn smiled. "I am headed south to Ascalon, and will be sure to let Rytlock know it's going well for you here. And please, go to Wolf Lodge. Theirs is the warmest hearth." 

And the closest at the moment. "Thanks. Safe journey." 

"The Spirits watch over you, as well, young charr."  


_Norn._


	2. Other Spirits

The Wayfarer Foothills were strange. 

Not for their odd greenery or snow-she'd been in Hoelbrak and the surrounding area long enough to get over that- but the...otherness that was the Spirits. 

She frowned at the Wolf Shrine as she sharpened her greatsword. In Ascalon, there were old powers aplenty. Searing Crystals had enough power to charge certain kinds of magic, and the grawl tended to worship them. A human shrine, humming with the drowsy potency of their distant gods, was a common enough sight in the Gladium Quarter. Older, darker things could be found scattered in caverns. And then there was the Heart of the Foefire, almost rumbling with old anger and hate beneath the ground...she shuddered at the memory of battles fought there, 

But those were all old near-nameless things, worshipped by savages and fools and therefore easily dismissed. The Spirits, though....they were definitely there. And while the norn were strange, she could make too much sense of them to call them a race of savages or fools. 

The Wolf Shaman looked at the gathered warriors, nodding in approval. Four Norn, herself, two humans who looked to be sorcerers of some kind, and asura in diminutive heavy armor with a relatively large sword that Kalmea could have used for a dagger. 

Approval. Right. The world was a strange place. 

"Fight with the strength of the pack," the Shaman said, "Do not doubt those beside you, for you have become brothers in your conviction. These servants of the Dragon are nothing before your united strength." The great white wolves surrounding shrine crept in as he spoke, eyes gleaming in the dusk. The Shaman was speaking to them, too, and they were listening. "They have taken our pups, our land, and would seek to devour everything as their lord does. But it ends today, before the brotherhood of Wolf!" 

See, the norn made sense. For who else was Wolf but the god of the warband, the lord of the bond that made you fight through caves and undead and pain for the sake of the soldier beside you? Why wouldn't you worship that, if you had to worship something? 

Especially when you could feel it there with you. 

The sense of being watched, which she always felt in this valley, seemed to intensify, and there was a long, powerful howl on the edges of her hearing. Something seemed to ripple through her fur. She looked at the motley assortment of warriors and saw...saw people she'd gladly die beside, brave and true, no different than Euryale. 

She checked the sights on her rifle before securing it on her back. Time to kill some Dragon-worshipers. 

The wolves howled, more of their kind appearing out of the twilight. With lighting reflexes, they sprang forward, the pack galloping after. Kalmea was roaring with their call before she realized it, charging forward into the side valley flank-to-flank with a wolf. 

They slammed into the forward lookouts of the Svanir like a title wave. Kalmea drew her sword as the wolves leapt forward. One of them had clamped onto a forearm and the norn was wrestling to get it off. Kalmea swept around and took off his head, before kicking another away and into the jaws of one of the large white wolves. 

The lookouts where wiped out in seconds, and the holding sounded again as the wolves charged forward. Smaller, desperate sounds echoed from the campfires of the Svanir long houses before them. 

Kalmea leapt atop an outcrop and switched her sword for her rifle. The wolf pack was a tidal wave, her fellow warriors mixed within it. They were overwhelming the enemy camp, but Kalmea was certain there were many more Svanir tucked in nearby caves- there were _always_ nearby caves. 

Sure enough, she watched a dozen norn come charging from the packs left flank. She sighted the first and fired, center mass, turning him into a tumbling mass of meat. The wolves looked to the newcomers and several of them broke off. 

The sick chill of Svanir magic filled the air. Kalmea sighted carefully again, looking for...there, the one with the glowing hands. 

She fired, aiming precariously for the head this time. The man dropped in a shower of skull, blood, and brains. The wolves made short work of the others. Kalmea switched weapons again and leapt down, stopping only to send her blade crashing through a handful of stragglers. 

A triumphant howl issued from the camp, and the canine tidal wave withdrew, several of the wolves carrying pups by the scruff of their necks. Some locked eyes with her, and the other non-animals nodded at her as they all rushed back to the shrine. 

The shaman was waiting as they returned. The wolves vanished into the night around him. "Well done," he said, "the strength of the pack is more than a match for the Dragon's corruption. Wolf thanks you." He bowed, and then took some things out of his pouch and began handing them around. "Take these totems. May they remind you that you never fight alone, no matter where you find yourself." 

Kalmea squinted in the dim light of a torch to examine the thing. It was a stylized carving of a wolf, done in the Norn style she saw so much of these days. It had the feel of a charm, a sense of enchantment. 

Well, she thought as she tucked it into a belt pouch, it wasn't like she was worshipping Wolf. Lucky charms weren't a crime in the Legions, and the Tribune certainly thought she was in for a rough road. 

She followed one of the designs on the totem with a claw before snapping the pouch shut. Besides, it was good to remember you had brethren. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spirituality of the charr isn't covered enough, really. They live a hard life, their civilization always close to the edge of destruction, in quite close proximity to the norn, who are very spiritual and have a lot in common with individual charr- namely, love of meat and booze and violence and brotherhood. Despite the hard antitheist line drawn by charr authorities, I figure individuals could develop a pretty spiritual worldview as they leave the Citadel.


	3. Dubious Research Methods

Both charr stared at the burnt ruins of the room wide-eyed, then turned to each other.

These people were some of the greatest scholars in Tyria? 

"Well," said the old enchantress from the stairs, a dead (formerly undead) chicken casually in one hand, "that was educational." 

Euryale opened her mouth and shut it several times. "Educational?" she finally shouted, "Three times over, 'the best minds in Tyria’ nearly got us killed!" 

Kalmea discretely stepped on her bandmate's tail, which didn't deter her. Not much halted Euryale in a temper. 

Yahala just shrugged. "Hazard of discovery and invention. You're Iron Legion. You know how it is." 

Kalmea didn't recall setting the Canton on fire when developing the ghostbore musket. It had been a quiet process. The Legion tended to different forms of invention than...cursed chickens and multicolored potions. 

Kalmea's pale blue eyes narrowed. "So do you have a plan?" 

Yahala showed her teeth, a charr adaptation of the human and norn smile. "Certainly." 

Right. Good thing Kalmea carried a big sword. 


	4. Dragonbrand

  
"You've never seen the Dragonbrand before, have you?" Forgal asked.

Kalmea stared down at the sick scar at the land grimly. "No." They were perched on a small hill near the Brand, but far enough to see the way it stretched across the land. The very air itself seemed different above the cracked, crystalline landscape. There were _things_ creeping across it. 

She watched a Sentinel patrol work its way across the border, more heavily armed than even the soldiers at the heart of Ascalon City. Something burst loose from the ground, causing her to start. The Sentinels simply smashed it to pieces. 

"Almora says that it was narrower when it was made." 

Kalmea blinked, remembering the General's story. "It consumed her Warband. She had to kill them." She could imagine it, watching Euryale and the others change before her eyes, lose all recognition and turn on her. She could imagine driving her sword through them, weeping and begging for them to be _themselves_ again. "Most people would have holed up in the Gladium Quarter and drank themselves to death." 

Forgal shrugged. "General Soulkeeper isn't most people." 

Kalmea just nodded, still watching the Sentinels. The Brand was yet another threat to the Legions, another way for charr to die in horror. "They rotate warbands through, I know, because it's hard duty. Sometimes it drives them mad." 

Forgal placed a hand on her shoulder. "Without that sacrifice, you can be sure the Branded would be running rampant across Ascalon and beyond." 

"Do you think Ebonhawke will help after the treaty is signed?" 

"If they have any sense of honor. Or self-preservation." 

And it would remove another front they had to fight on. "Then let's go make sure it happens." 

The norn chuckled. "That's the spirit." 


	5. Traitor's Fate

The big male's claws reached for her throat. She kicked him away and jumped to her feet. 

The renegade moron had knocked her blade and her rifle into the scrub somewhere. Fine. He wanted tooth and claw? He'd get it. 

She leapt at him before he could get his balance. He threw his claws over his face and throat, leaving her to gouge at his forearm. 

"Traitor!" she snarled. He kicked and wiggled under weight, throwing her back enough to free himself. As soon as he got out, he came back at her, his mass throwing her to the side. 

"Traitor, centurion?" He rumbled, pinning her arms. Kalmea's hackles began to rise. "Peace with these scum is treachery! A betrayal of our dead and our wounded! A betrayal of all the cubs of the future who should be heirs to all of Ascalon!" 

She relaxed, focusing. "You are a charr, a soldier of the High Legions. We are already fighting the ghosts and we don't know when we'll be able to stop it. The Brand eats at our lands. And the Flame Legion still lives. We don't need another front." 

He took her calm for surrender and relaxed just enough. 

With all the fury of an Iron Legion Tank, she surged forward and tore out his throat. 

Traitors die. 


	6. A Drink With a Friend

Euryale threw herself gracelessly into her seat, sliding a mug across to Kalmea. 

"So..." She tapped her claws against the table. "Lion's Arch? Is it like the travelers say?" 

Kalmea chuckled. "Loud, crowded, and smelling like fish? Yes." She took a deep drink, enjoying the taste of good Citadel Whiskey. Norn ale tasted like a blizzard, and alcohol was a gamble in Lion's Arch. Asura bartenders...never again. "Not a bad place, though. You'd drool like a cub over the staff vendors." 

"Trade capitol of the world," Euryale said, nodding, "Humans give you much trouble there?" 

"Not particularly. I found more problems in Hoelbrak." 

"Undead chickens?" They both laughed. 

"That was...what, six weeks ago?" 

"Yeah." Euryale looked down. "Just before we took down poor Howl, the stupid fool." 

Kalmea knew her sparing partner well enough to see where this was going. Euryale would take her time getting there, so she might as well do it. "How's it going with the warband?" 

"Had to drag that cub Zemzer out of a brawl yesterday. Trying to prove something, just like a male. Nearly lost the end of my tail." She held up the bandaged appendage for proof. "But it's going well. Been using your musket to help clear out the city ruins as the sappers go at the wall." 

"Imperator Smodur is still hoping to clear away the wall, then? I remember rumors of that." 

"The Ghostbore was the final vital piece of the plan, or whatever." The elementalist shook her head. "I don't know. I'm not you, I don't follow along with these big plans. I just set things on fire." 

Kalmea gripped her shoulder. "Hey, you've got it, you know. The others trust you, the Legion trusts you, and _I_ trust you. So trust yourself." 

Euryale gripped her friend's arm in thanks. "Come back when you can, with your stories. Tell them to the warband, get them off my back for a few hours." 

"Maybe I'll show up for a vacation on your next patrol." 

"Vacation? We'll remind you how real soldiers fight, Centurion, not your foreign highborn morons!" She gestured contemptuously at the fine, foreign weapons on Kalmea's back, gifts from a grateful Ebonhawke after the Treaty. "Show up your little human trinkets, too!" 

Kalmea grinned. Nothing to come could match these bonds. 


	7. The Hedonism of a Plant

Agaren liked to blame Niamh, on the occasions anyone bothered to confront him about the course of his life.

He could, he supposed, blame the Tree, or the Dream, but that was too far. No sylvari could do that, not unless they fell into Nightmare, or silence, neither of which suited him. One too cruel a terror, the other too still a life.

Agaren's dream had not, at first, seemed beyond Niamh's wisdom.

"I was charging into battle with many other warriors against....twisted creatures...I can't describe just how wrong they were."

Niamh nodded. "Like many others, you have dreamed of the war against the Elder Dragons. Those creatures were their corrupted." She shook her elegant head sadly. "Not a light burden."

"There was also a presence with me," Agaren continued, "Friendly, dear even. Savage, though, and large. We worked together. I can't...in the Dream..."

Niamh smiled and waved away his confusion. "I know. What we see can be hard to translate to the waking world. I believe, young one, you are to be a ranger, with a beast companion who will stand with you in the trials to come."

So he tried, but after the incident with the panther, and then the one with the drake, everyone decided that Agaren was not an animal person. He did have an aptitude for guardian magic, so he was guided into the Wardens, and then happily joined the Vigil when he stumbled upon the recruiting station.

And then Lion's Arch.

The Vigil was growing, and their many operations rarely required inexperienced manpower. Agaren was to languish in Lion's Arch until he was needed.

Without the guidance claimed by many of his brethren, the valiant young sylvari dove into the delights of Lion's Arch. (His Vigil contact, an older human elementalist, sighed and waited; this wasn't his first sylvari charge, gods have mercy.)

Agaren learned many things of himself and others, though it was really all a blur. There were festivals and parties and bars. There were humans, and sylvari, and at least once an asura, and a great number of beds. It was grand. He couldn't believe no one lived like this in the Grove.

And yet, his Hunt was the one itch he found Lion's Arch couldn't scratch. It would flare up, from time to time, like a bad rash.

Which was why he opted for one of the more run down taverns and a mug full of some kind of clear liquor tonight. It wasn't a conversational kind of place, which was good, because where there was conversation, there was talk of the Dragons, and death, and misery, and he felt like a coward.

Why? It's not like the Vigil had anything for him to do now, anyway. And since he was supposed to have been a Ranger, according to the Dream, he was clearly destined to be a failure, so why feel guilt over what you were going to fail at anyway?

This was really awful alcohol. He took another swig and laid a coin on the bar to pay for a refill. The norn behind the bar obliged quietly.

The door to the tavern burst open. "So it's just okay then?" a female one voice asked, edged with a growl. A charr female walked in, tawny tail swishing, cloudy blue eyes blazing as she glared at the tavern. The bartender nodded at her. A regular, maybe one of the boarders.

She nodded back, then turned to glare at her companion as he came through the door, her short blue-black mane bristling. Agaren blinked and sat up straighter as he saw who it was.

"This is the problem with you young warriors," Warmaster Forgal Kernsson said, "Lack of strategic thinking."

The charr threw her pack onto an empty table. "Lack of...I'm useful in Ascalon! My warband throws themselves against a half dozen packs of foes a day, and I have to come back and sit until the Vigil figures out what's going on. But it's all part of a master strategy that's just going to take time!" She shut her jaws with a vicious click and threw herself into her seat.

Forgal sighed and pulled up the other chair. Agaren had only ever seen the man from a distance, and never thought he could act so normal. He began, more quietly, talking to the charr. Her tail lashed as he spoke.

Agaren tapped his mug, wondering if he should go find out what was going on- something clearly was, though no one had bothered to tell him, or at least he thought so- and possibly offer his sympathy, being as he had some tonight.

He watched the charr as she relaxed. He'd seen plenty of charr in Lion's Arch, and even a few in the Grove, but they didn't often walk in the circles he did. It was strange how they seemed so alien, even now. Every time he saw them, they seemed to be stepping carefully, adjusting the way they moved for the world around them, one part swagger, two parts caution, trying to be part of the world that looked at them as savages.

This one, her tail lashing gently, glaring at anyone and anything in her vicinity, didn't seem to play that game. She would be who she was.

Huh.

Well, he thought, laying down a copper on the bar for a tip as he got up, she was Vigil, clearly, so maybe he'd see her around.

* * *

The next day, his contact found him and he was hurried onto a fast ship bound for Claw Island.

The wait was over.


	8. Claw Island Lost

Kalmea loosened her greatsword in its sheath before bringing her rifle to the low ready again. 

This was going to be ugly. She could smell it. 

Forgal was chatting with a sylvari further down the western wall, discussing the likelihood of the Risen closing on the island. Kalmea left them to it and stayed with the other members of the Vigil who'd been wrangled from Lion's Arch. She didn't feel there was any point to discussion. Something was coming. She couldn't imagine anyone could miss the signs. 

The sylvari next to her, a green male with hints of turquoise on his foliage, was keeping an eye on the conversation, though. "That's Trahearne," he said, seeming impressed, "One of the Firstborn." 

Kalmea raised a brow. "Which means?" 

"He's...special. The first of us to awaken. He's an expert on the Risen. Not many people see him these days, since he spends so much time on Orr.. Something must be going on, if he's here." 

"You can't smell it? The stench on the wind?" 

The sylvari shook his head. "Not my gift." 

One of the humans nearby snorted. "No, Agaren, your gift is ending up in bed with every hussy in a tavern." 

The sylvari rolled his eyes. "Jealousy is the sign of a small mind." 

"How long has been since you used that shield, then? Have you touched a sword in the past four months? Not like that," the human snapped as some of the others snickered, "People like you get others killed." 

The wind stilled suddenly. "Quiet," Kalmea growled. 

A horn sounded from the beach patrol, bringing the busy Lionguard on the wall and the courtyard to a standstill. Next to Kalmea, Agaren the sylvari pulled his shield from his back in a way that made it at least seem as if he knew what he was doing. 

A few stifling moments later, one of the senior Crusaders Forgal had sent out to check the defenses came running back. "A probing attack," the gray charr said, winding a bandage around a gash on his arm, "I'd say they fell back, but the Risen don't care about bodies- so to speak." 

Forgal nodded and sent the Crusader back to the patrols. He and Traherne came over to Kalmea and the others. "Stop clumping together," the Warmaster ordered, "Split into teams, don't go it alone. The Risen strength is in numbers. If you don't have anyone to watch your back, they'll roll right over you." 

They separated out, some pushed together by Forgal, who then spread them along the wall. There were scarcely over a dozen of them, some clearly nervous recent recruits. If the fortress' veteran Lionguard couldn't hold against whatever was coming, Kalmea doubted they'd be much help. 

She found herself side-by-side with Agaren. She eyed him warily, mindful of what the others had said. "I'm Kalmea Steelheart." He was checking his gear like he knew what he was doing. "Seriously, how long has it been since you picked up a sword?" 

"Honestly? Too long, but I doubt I've forgotten anything." He smiled charmingly up at her. Kalmea was not charmed. "Sylvari don't get out of practice." 

Well, at least if she died on some Risen's festering sword, they could tell everyone back home it wasn't her fault. "Right." She turned back to the west, watching. 

The sky darkened suddenly, and the still air grew heavy with the scent of putrid meat. Kalmea brought her rifle to her shoulder. 

The Risen boiled out of the sea like maggots, swarming up the shore with a lumbering swiftness. Kalmea snarled and began firing. The head of an undead charr snapped back and it fell. Its brethren stumbled over it, largely unhindered. 

The Dead Ships lurked on the horizon, now, and vast bony tentacles rose out of the sea. They cocked backed and then flung something towards them. 

It landed with a horrific splat further along the wall and then it _roared_. Agaren drew his sword and turned towards it. Kalmea glanced over from the horde below and saw the most awful abomination, stitched together from the dead and bloated like a waterlogged body. Two of their group's elementalists were blasting at it, eventually burning it where it stood. 

And then three others hit the wall. 

Kalmea switched her rifle for her sword and snarled a challenge at the abomination thundering towards them. It lifted a twisted arm to strike and she ducked closer, hewing into rotten flesh along a seam line. The stitches pooped, making the monster grunt and stumble in agony, but it kept going. 

Something slammed against her back as she leapt clear of the next swing. She turned her head a fraction to see Agaren regaining his footing and slamming a Risen human over the wall with his shield. The horde had managed to the scale the wall. 

Kalmea cut a gibbering head off and kicked the body into a shambling charr. They were surrounded, the abomination wading through its fellows towards them. "Do you have any tricks up up your sleeve, sylvari?" 

"A few." He gutted an asura and lifted his blade. The blast of magic smelled white hot and turned a small circle of Risen into torches of blue-white fire. 

A guardian. Didn't see many of those where she'd been wandering. She hadn't seen that trick often. 

"Nice," she said, as the fire faded and a surprisingly agile asura came bounding towards her like a rabid thing. She lifted a claw from her sword to catch the thing and fling it over the wall. "We need to kill that thing." 

"Cut the stitches in the legs and it will probably fall." 

"I got one, earlier." 

"Let's go, then." 

They fought their way towards the abomination through the growing horde. They wouldn't be able to hold much longer, but Kalmea wasn't sure they'd be able to even retreat of that thing stayed standing. It was clearing Lionguard off the wall as of they were flecks of dust. The wind was picking up, though not alleviating the terrible scent of rot. 

The fortress' trebuchets began firing at the ships. A nearby projectile distracted the abomination, giving Kalmea an opening to go for the uninjured leg. 

A Risen charr slammed a a hammer into her breastplate suddenly, knocking her off balance and causing her to miss. 

Agaren, right on her tail, swooped around and tore open the seams. The thing tumbled with a grating howl, not dead, but useless. 

"Fall back!" someone shouted below, "To the courtyard!" 

Kalmea shook herself and grabbed the nearest injured Lionguard, a lightly armed asura. Agaren spotted a still Risen corpse with his sword and laid a hand blazing with blue fire on one of the others. His wounds knitted themselves well enough and he limped downwards. The sylvari snatched his sword up and covered Kalmea as she leapt off the wall with the Lionguard. 

She turned just enough to make sure he'd followed her safely down before hastening to the gathering circle of Lionguard. There weren't many of them. 

Kalmea recognized the human as the fort's second in command looked at the injured asura and nodded towards the dock gates. "Get the wounded to the docks. We'll hold while Traherne lights the beacons to alert Lion's Arch." 

And then, and then the wall crumbled behind them. They all turned to look at it. 

As the dust cleared, they saw a dragon slam to the ground. Kalmea's eyes went wide. Zhaitan! 

It couldn't be. It never left Orr. 

"One of Zhaitan's champions," Forgal said grimly, suddenly beside her, "By the Spirits, I'd never thought I'd see one of those." The beacons above them flared to life. There was defiant cry, and then an armored body fell into the courtyard. It was the grey-furred charr Crusader who'd alerted them of the probing attack. The Warmaster stared at it for a long moment. Then he turned to Kalmea and Agaren. "The dragon's servants will never let our ships sail. If they surround the docks, they'll slaughter us—and Zhaitan's forces will grow." 

"These soldiers are too injured to fight," Agaren said, lifting a dimming hand from another one of the wounded. 

Forgal nodded, mouth a firm line, then breaking out into a madcap grin. Kalmea blinked in surprise. "A heroic but nearly impossible task, against great odds and an unrelenting enemy." He shouldered his weapons, and turned towards the looming dragon. It was toying with the Lionguard defenders. "This, my friend, is a death worthy of legend." 

Kalmea's tail went rigid. "What?" 

He walked toward the dragon, rotating his shoulders."Get the wounded to safety. Warn Lion's Arch. One day, you'll come back and retake this island—of that, I have no doubt." 

"You can't just walk into that alone!" Agaren shouted. 

"I lost my mate and child to the dragons," Forgal said over his shoulder, "I thought my legend had died with them, that I had no one left to tell my tale. Now that's changed. Tell my tale at the hearth fires, where the skaalds sing of heroes." 

He walked to the dragon. Kalmea and Agaren, among the wounded, stared agape at him. One of the wounded groaned, jerking them out of it. They exchanged a glance. "Let's not let it be in vain, then," Agaren said, helping the injured to their feet. Kalmea nodded and did the same. They began heading to the gate to the docks, the Risen hard on their heels. 

Kalmea rushed to shut the gates behind them, alongside Traherne, cleaving a few risen as she did. Before she shut them the last few inches, she saw Forgal standing alone before the dragon. "I am Forgal, son of Kern. My father was the last Dolyak Shaman! I am a Warmaster of the Vigil! You will never make me kneel!" 

She slammed the gates shut and closed her eyes before turning to hurry the wounded to the nearest ship.


	9. On the Defense

"If you poke me with that shield one more time, I will snap it in half." Kalmea opened one eye as she spoke to glare at Agaren. They were sitting with their backs to the docks, waiting for the Risen. Again. 

The sylvari looked up from where he as polishing his shield. It was some elaborate Krytan thing, too flashy by half. "If you do that, then you won't get my help with the Risen." 

She snorted and opened both eyes to stare at the empty beach. The citizens of Lion's Arch had been somehow herded to more fortified areas. The Vigil had dug defenses and traps into the sand. The scouts had reported that it wasn't a large force headed their way, but no soldier of the Iron Legion was stupid enough to trust intelligence entirely. 

General Soulkeeper had certainly thought the same. She'd recalled every member of the Vigil she could do the defense. They hadn't even bothered to hold a memorial for Forgal yet. 

Kalmea's tail twitched. He'd died bravely, and it had been the only option. She could name her share of the valiant dead. It shouldn't feel like she'd failed. He was her mentor, responsible for her welfare, not the other way around. 

"I didn't think Forgal could die," Agaren told her, as if reading her thoughts, "Everyone talks about him like he was the best warrior in the world. And now he's been dead two days." 

"It doesn't take much to kill anyone," she said tiredly, quoting someone. Maybe Tribune Brimestone. "Just stick something pointy in the right place at the right time and down they go." 

"Still." 

"I know." 

"We need to retake the island." 

"We will." She shifted, resettling more comfortably. She nodded to the sea, breathing steadily. In, out, in, out. The wind gained a vaguely rotten smell. "Any minute now." 


	10. The Grove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this was a weird idea.

"This is stupid," Kalmea informed Agaren, tail swishing agitatedly, "I'm more use recruiting Snarl and Galina, who I _know_ , not escorting the highest ranking sylvari in the world to his hometown."

It wasn't the first time she'd made that observation, but Agaren hoped it would be the last, since they were finally at the Grove.

He shrugged, happy to be walking into Grove again. "Orders are orders, as you said, _and_ they came from General Soulkeeper, _and_ her tactics of traps and fallback positions are probably the only reason Lion's Arch still stands."

"I know, I know. Just...did Traherne really need our help getting here?"

Agaren watched their leader as he strode confidently through the other sylvari, nodding in greeting to those who recognized him. "Getting here, I don't think, is what worries him. Mother sent him a message. I imagine she told him to bring help. She does things like that."

Kalmea grunted and they passed into the Grove proper in silence, headed straight to the Omphalos Chamber. Agaren grinned and waved at a few old friends, some of whom he knew from his earliest waking days. No one approached, though, probably because of Kalmea. She wasn't the first charr the Grove had seen, but she hadn't hid what she was; she stalked across the ground like the big, magnificent predator she was.

She really was beautiful, though Agaren doubted many sylvari would see it that way. Her fur was mostly tawny gold, brindled with blue-black, the same color as her mane, her horns were simple, untouched scythes, framed by flickering ears. Every motion of hers was one of powerful grace that could turn to violence in a heartbeat if there was need.

"You're scaring everyone," he commented with a smile.

She shrugged, her sword and rifle clanking against her new Vigil armor. "Their problem."


	11. Late to the Party

"General!" 

Almorra Soulkeeper turned to see the young charr Steelheart and the layabout sylvari guardian. Traherne was with them, wielding an absurd glowing sword. They'd left a trail of slaughtered Risen behind them along the ramparts. She smiled at them. "Well done!" she called as they neared. 

Steelheart braced her Greatsword on her shoulder and looked down at the Risen below. "Looks like they've drawn back for now." 

"Probably in preparation for another assault, since we've bloodied them so well." She frowned at her forces. There were many wounded, and everyone was tucked under cover. "We need to stop their artillery." 

"We can probably get to the catapults, since we're fresh." 

Almorra looked them over. "That you are." She nodded. "Knock them out and we'll assault with all we've got." 

"There's probably one of Zhaitan's lieutenants down there," Traherne said. 

Almorra snorted. "Bring down the catapults and these troops will be able to bring down anything they've got as soon as they can break cover." 

Steelheart nodded and sheathed her sword, pulling out her rifle. The sylvari guardian grinned. "Always a reason to be fashionably late to a party." 

The charr shoved him lightly as they headed to the catapults. Almorra shook her head and looked pointedly at Traherne, who shrugged. "Vigil," she called to her soldiers, "be ready to charge on my command!" 


	12. Claw Island Regained

Kalmea grinned and bounded onto the other ship as it drew alongside. "Galina! Snarl!" 

The two charr turned from working their cannon and laughed. "Well, if it isn't one of Rytlock's very special protégés," Snarl said, "finding time to mingle with the ordinary charr of the Legions." 

Galina stomped on his tail. "Like we're not getting commendation for this toy." She patted the dismantled cannon affectionately. "I hear there's some nasty beasts on that island, Kalmea." She nodded ahead, where Claw Island sat waiting in the gloom. The palm groves that had once decorated it were long gone. 

"A horde of Risen," Kalmea answered, "and a dragon." She turned to the island, frowning. "Warmaster Forgal was a force to be reckoned with, but all I think he bought us was time to evacuate. I doubt he made much of a dent in their numbers." 

Snarl nodded. "They've had time to fortify, too." 

"A few _days_ ," Galina pointed out, "Not even a week." 

"Yeah, but it's not like they're worried about morale, food, or water, is it?" 

Galina looked away and shrugged, not willing to concede the point outright. "Eh." 

A few scouts hauled themselves aboard the flotilla, removing their breathing apparatuses. Galina and Snarl's boat was the lead, with the leadership of all three orders on board, as well as Traherne. They were bickering near the bow. 

The lead scout, an asura in a Whispers uniform, knocked water out of her ears and approached the leaders. "Waters are clear up to the docks, now," she called, "I left most of the team to establish a beachhead there. They can hold til we get there." 

The announcement was well received, then the orders went back to discussing tactics with as many insults as possible. "These are the people were supposed to trust to save civilization from the Elder Dragons?" Galina asked. 

"People? Feh." Snarl snapped his tail. "Trust the cannon." 

No one like the Legions. Kalmea chuckled to herself. She looked back to the ship she had been on. Agaren was still laying on a bunch of crates, spinning his sword around with one hand. 'Layabout' was the most generous thing people said about him. He'd lingered idle- or, well, not useful- in Lion's Arch for months. She wondered if he'd revert once the crisis had passed. 

The signal flags passed from ship to ship, and he was on his feet as soon as it came. 'Layabout' indeed. 

"Let's get set up to set up," Galina said. She and Snarl packed parts away and folded others. Kalmea was impressed. Neither of them was even Iron Legion. 

She drew her sword from her back, not even considering the rifle. It'd be a close quarters fight. 

Agaren took the opportunity to vault to the lead ship, along with several others. They'd had to spread out for speed. Now they needed to make sure the Ghostbore and a Priory weapon of absurd name had time to set up, which meant they needed defenders. "And here you thought you finally got rid of me," the sylvari told her. 

"Not here." The fighting on the docks was ringing over the water now. "Maybe later. I know the Iron Legion was looking to develop a very potent weed killer for the ranchers on Diessa..." 

"Ship some to the Grove, maybe we can hit Twilight Arbor with it." He pulled his shield from his back. "After this, we go get a drink." 

The docks were right there. The scouts had established their beachhead, alright, at heavy cost. "After this, we go get a lot of drinks." 

General Soulkeeper was the first off the boat, leaping onto the dock before the hull had even touched it. "For the Vigil!" 

The canon escort followed her lead, slamming into the Risen host and almost immediately disintegrating it. They charged towards the now-bone reinforced gates. 

Behind them, engineers began seeking up. Snarl and Galina's Ghostbore turrets flanked the Priory absurdity, while the escort fought the Risen off. 

Kalmea hacked at the horde, snarling as they pressed forward. Their eyes were expressionless and rotting, if they had them at all, their mouths agape or snarling some promise of the Dragon. 

A huge Risen male charr locked his greatsword with hers, gibbering in her face. She bared her fangs back and thrust the thing away. Agaren stabbed deep into its guts lighting fast, dropping it. As he did so, an undead asura came leaping up to strike at his unprotected back, but Kalmea broke the body against her blade, covering Agaren with putrid liquid. 

"That's it. We're in!" 

The declaration widened Kalmea's focus. She moved steadily forward with the escort, breaking off to ensure Galina had time to set up her cannon in the courtyard. 

The other charr cursed and muttered as she and Snarl assembled the parts admits the chaos. Kalmea kicked away a Risen human and shouted, "What's the hold up?" 

The answer was Norn profanities. How did Blood Legion pick that up? She wasn't even stationed at Diessa. 

Kalmea slashed a way to the pair's side. "I can help, if you need it." 

Galina's tail thrashed. "Iron, always think they know everything, no machine able to run without you." She snapped something into place and stepped back, hitting the firing mechanism. A ball of ghostfire incinerated a mass of Risen. "Shows what you know." 

Snarl was laughing. "Bet I kill more than you." 

Galina eyed him, claws tapping on the canon. "You're on." 

"Wonderful," Traherne said, moving forward along with General Soulkeeper and some other Order leaders- and a good number of his own undead. "Yes. Yes, we _can_ do this." 

Agaren cleared his throat. "What about the dragon?" 

The Priory representative, a norn, snorted. “Our alchemists have been working on a few things for that, sylvari.” 

Kalmea remembered the incident with the undead chicken and decided to hope for the best. No turning back now. 

Traherne glanced around. “Quickly, repair the trebuchets!” 

Kalmea and Agaren joined the push up to the ramparts. She sliced through hordes of undead. Their groups were looser than the earlier fight in the same place, less aggressive. Had they surprised them with the counterattack? 

The pair joined up in a motely circle around one of the trebuchets while a small gang of charr and asura engineers hauled gear forward to start repairs. They could see other defensive groups surrounding the other two trebuchets, with repairs underway, and above, shrieking, the vicious shape of rotting wings. 

Agaren summoned a low line of blue fire several feet in front of them. “I need to practice a bit more, I think,” he muttered. 

Kalmea kicked away a human corpse and beheaded it. “Then get to it, already!” 

He blocked a hammer blow and cut down the attacker. “Look at that priory Guardian, with the ethereal sword!” 

“Yours would probably do a festival dance rather than kill.” She lifted a withered undead charr. It raged and frothed at her, staring muzzle to muzzle, before she threw it over the wall. She wrinkled her nose as she opened up a too-energetic Risen asura; she thought she was used to the smell by now. 

Agaren leapt past her to snatch a struggling human out of the mob. Kalmea took one step out of the defensive line to cover his return. The human was deeply wounded, and the wound reeked distinctly even above the rot. There’d be many dead by the end of this… 

The frenzied hammering to their back halted. “Load the special ammo!” someone shouted. Creaking and clanging as the make-shift trebuchet was prepped to fire. Kalmea winced. They’d be lucky if the slapdash repairs lasted long enough. “Bring the dragon down!” 

The trebuchet launched into the sky, followed by the other two. The winged shape above the clouds dodged one projectile, two…but not the third. 

With an awful shriek, it tumbled out of the sky, barely righting itself to land outside the ruined wall. 

Traherne shouted from the courtyard below. “Keep it from flying! Warriors, kill it!” 

Kalmea looked around. The engineers were more than enough to keep firing the trebuchet and defend against the dwindling number of undead. She grabbed Agaren by his neck armor and leapt over the wall. “Charge!” she called, releasing him and rushing towards the dragon. 

A stream of warriors hacked at the rotting forelimbs. Trebuchet bombs burst on it, not doing much damage but releasing some herby smelling liquid onto the beast. Magicians unleased their whole range of spells. 

As Kalema approached, the creature raised a claw and howled. The ground erupted with huge rotting fish, that opened their mouths and spewed out rotting bombs. Kalmea turned towards the nearest one with a smile and began hacking it to ribbons. 

A white streak burst across the battlefield, rushing to the dragon. “For the Vigil!” Almorra Soulkeeper clawed her way up a leg, leaping to the monster’s shoulder. 

It turned and shrieked at her, reaching up to throw her off. She twisted out of the way, though it got a good scratch in. She leapt upon the head and drove her greatsword through its skull. 

With a dwindling scream, the dragon collapsed. 

The fish withered and died. What few undead lumbering upon the ramparts and in the courtyard fell to the ground. The clouds began to blow away to let the sun and blue sky through. 

Kalema joined the crowd running towards the dragon’s head. General Soulkeeper was sitting on the ground, breathing heavily. She waved off all aid, finished bandaging her wound from her kit, and carefully raised herself from the ground. They all watched as she made her way to where her sword stuck out of the rotting head. “I’ve met tougher,” she said, and pulled her weapon lose. 

“Well?” she asked. 

Trahearne laughed. “Well done, General Soulkeeper. We have freed Claw Island, and driven Zhaitan back!” He turned to look at the army. “Lion’s Arch is safe! Next, my brave friends, next we shall retake Orr and kill the Elder Dragon himself!” 


End file.
